


all that we left behind

by goldpeak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: The First Avenger, Communication, Emotionally Repressed, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating May Change, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tags May Change, Touch-Starved, WWII, Warnings May Change, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpeak/pseuds/goldpeak
Summary: Repressing emotions is easier than confronting them. Pretending something never happened is easier than acknowledging that it did, and what that means.Those are truths that Sergeant Barnes holds close to heart, and therefor, Bucky Barnes is- for all intents and purposes- fine.The problem is that Steve Rogers isn't so easily fooled."Bucky- the familiarity and sense of home held in his gaze had been enough to wrench Steve out of the whirlpool that he feels that he is constantly caught in (being tugged under, pulled in every direction- with nothing but a metal disc to help him stay afloat). And, Bucky- god, Bucky-, he’d been an escape from that. Hasn’t it always been that way, though?"





	1. so, so silent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As inspired and assisted by my long-overdue reading of "All Quiet on the Western Front" by the insightful Erich Maria Remarque, I present to you: ALL THAT WE LEFT BEHIND, a short story regarding our favorite star-spangled hero and his loyal best friend, and what the MCU didn't tell us about them. With, of course, honorable mentions to the importance of acknowledging your trauma and confronting powerful emotions. 
> 
> Take heed of: descriptions of violence, poor handling of emotions, and touch-aversion. The rating, warnings, and tags are all subject to change.

     “I thought you were dead!”

     “I thought you were smaller. What happened to you?”

     “I joined the army.”

     ..

Steven G. Rogers and James B. Barnes return back to base late the next evening, burnt, marred, and tired within an inch of their lives- but they, and every other soldier, hold enough pride within themselves to power a small city. The soldiers back at base receive the returned arrivals with clapping and cheering, all of them going on about how their prayers have been answered- just by the simple act of the captured soldiers’ safe returns.

Steve- or rather, Captain America- is regarded as somewhat of a God, by many of the men.

“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!”

His shoulders are aching from all the times he’s been clapped on the back by his comrades- he’s been jostled around, excitedly pushed and shoved- essentially, mobbed. Captain America has shaken too many hands to count, and he swears up and down that there were more hands than there were people attached to them.

Even his higher-ups are pleased, much to his surprise.

“I’ll surrender myself for disciplinary action,” he says, to one.

"That won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s an entire five minutes more of smiling, nodding and shaking hands that Steve realizes Bucky has, at some point, slipped away from his side.

By the time that he can excuse himself from the two-hundredth conversation of the evening, the sun is hanging low in the sky and casting her angry, blood-red glow across the forest. She doesn’t share the same delight that all the soldiers do- not at all. However, birds still crow their lullabies from high in the trees surrounding the base, even as the energy from within subsides like a receding tide.

It’s only then that Steve manages to take a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he exhales. It burns; the smoke having irritated his throat and lungs. It’d been worse on the trip back, though- all of the soldiers having to stop every few steps to heave, cough, and gasp for breath.

Of course, he’d done all of that in-between stealing glances at Bucky- _Bucky_ , in the flesh- who had been striding beside him. His face was dirtied, his clothes singed and stained- but, most importantly, his familiar silver eyes still bright and shining.

Steve had felt a bit of a reprieve on that march home, every time his gaze had met Bucky’s- the familiarity and sense of _home_ held in his gaze had been enough to wrench him out of the whirlpool that he constantly feels that he is caught in- being tugged under, pulled in every direction- with nothing but a metal disc to help him stay afloat. But Bucky- god, Bucky-, he’d been an escape from that. Hasn’t it always been that way, though?

Without Steve even realizing it, a small smile has crept onto his face- a genuine one, for a change. He steels his own expression before looking around for someone he recognizes, anyone, really- he needs to know where Bucky went. They have… some catching up to do.

“Peggy!” he calls out, after glimpsing her bouncing brown curls from across the sea of soldiers.

“Steve!” she exclaims, wading through the crowd and pulling him into a tight hug. Her fingers dig into his back and her face presses to his shoulder- and Steve probably just imagines the way she sniffles, right?

“Peggy,” he repeats, calmer now. He hugs her back, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her perfume- a little bit more of the tension dissipates from within him.

“You- God, Steve, you’re a moron,” she says, abruptly pushing back from him. She grips his shoulders, peering intently at him, scanning for injuries. “You’re so damn lucky.”

He huffs a laugh, turning his head side-to-side just to prove that he’s unhurt. The serum has already taken care of that, after all. “I’m alright, Pegs.”

She stares at him for a moment longer, before her red lips twist into a fond smile. “You’re wondering where your boy is, aren’t you?”

Steve’s heart flutters, his fingertips tingling with what he recognizes as worry. “Yeah, I am.”

“Med tent. I sent him. He’s in rough shape. Lucky you found him when you did!” Peggy has to shout, because Steve has already bounded off.

The med tent is filled to the brim, but that doesn’t stop all the injured soldiers from clearing a path for their hero-of-the-hour, Captain America.

“Captain!” one of the soldiers calls, from where he’s sitting on a cot. A nurse is wrapping his arm in bandages, and hisses at him to keep still.

Steve tips his head towards the soldier and flashes a tight smile, before whirling around and scanning the tent frantically looking for who he’s actually trying to find.

“Nurse, excuse me,” he says, placing a hand on the forearm of a nurse as she marches past him.

She stops abruptly, turning and giving him a warm smile. “Captain! What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for someone, the name-,” Steve starts, but she cuts him off.

“Barnes! Of course. On the back wall, third cot from the left.”

“Thank you so much, ma’am,” Steve says. On the back wall, there are a row of cots separated from the rest by hanging, white curtains. He strides towards them, his chest tightening.

“Bucky?” he murmurs outside the third cot, before brushing back the curtain and slipping inside.

“Steve,” Bucky slurs, blinking up at him slowly. An IV is stuck in his arm, connected to a clear bag that hangs from a hook on the cot. His eyes are cloudy, the glittering silver obstructed by what looks like a fine layer of mist. “Thought you’d never come.”

     “How’re you feeling?” Steve chokes out, sitting down on the edge of the cot. He reaches out and places a hand on Bucky’s knee- the later startles, and Steve snatches his hand back like it’s been burnt. “Sorry.”

“’m fine,” Bucky mutters, titling his head back to peer at Steve. “You look better.”

“Serum,” Steve says by way of explanation, his tone strained. “Buck, God, you look-.”

“Like shit?”

“No- you, you look better, too.”

It’s true. It’s obvious that he’s drugged out of his mind, still- not helped by whatever’s in that IV, that’s for sure- but the scrapes on his face have already faded to the fresh pink of new skin. The dirt has been cleaned from his cheeks and forehead, and he’s wearing a fresh white shirt. Though, his dirty and rusted dog tags still lay around his neck.

Bucky huffs a little laugh, blinking at Steve as if trying to clear the haze he’s seeing him through. “God, I can’t believe it.”

“Can’t believe what?” Steve asks, swallowing around the lump building in his throat. He feels like he’s choking, just slowly.

“You really came for me,” Bucky says, almost as if pondering it out loud for the first time. “You really did.”

“To the end of the line, Buck, remember? Of course, I did. I’d do it again, too.”

Bucky blinks some more, mouth twisting in something akin to confusion. “You’re an idiot, Rogers. Ya’know that?”

“You’ve told me so, before,” he chuckles, though any real humor is decidedly absent. He feels sick- his mouth tastes sour.

“You joined th’ goddamn war.”

“For you, Buck. I’d do it again, too.”

The curtain rustles as it’s pulled back, and the same nurse from earlier pokes her head through. “Sorry, Captain, but the Sergeant needs his rest, yeah?”

“Of course,” Steve says, straightening up. He casts a lingering glance back at Bucky, whose eyes have already gone back to staring blankly ahead. His gut twists, nausea pulling at his stomach. “I’ll see you later, Buck, alright?”

He doesn’t get a reply. He nods curtly at the nurse before slipping past her, and out of the med tent entirely, desperately needing some fresh air. The nausea has crept up and it pokes at the back of his throat- he tastes bile.

He makes it all the way around the corner before dropping to his knees and shoving a fist into the grass, tearing at the stems as he dry-heaves. Nothing comes up; he hasn’t eaten in days. Tears burn his eyes and run down his face, making tracks through the grime on his skin- and trickle off of his nose, his cheeks, and his jaw.

Steve gives himself exactly sixty seconds before he wrenches himself back to his feet, spits into the dirt, scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and strides away.

He returns to his barracks, which are mostly empty. The other soldiers are in the mess hall, eating, and catching up with their recently liberated brothers-in-arms.

Steve drops onto his bunk, bracing his elbows on his knees as he rests his head in his hands for a blissful moment of peace. He sets his damned shield down for the first time in what feels like too many hours- it scrapes along the hard dirt floor with a sickening sound. He grits his teeth.

His tips his helmet off of his head, leaving his sweaty hair to stick up at odd angles. He runs a shaky hand through the damp strands, while turning the helmet over in his other hand. He looks at it, rubs his thumb over a smear of dirt… he sets it down beside his shield with a disdainful glance.

Steve busies himself with changing into his normal uniform, leaving the singed Captain America getup in a neat stack at the foot of his bed. At some point he’ll have to get it laundered- before his next show, he realizes with a grimace.

He even goes to the length of splashing water onto his face, the day-old grime sloshing off and onto the ground- and he dries off on a rough scrap of towel he has in his knapsack. Steve catches his reflection on the surface of the water in the bucket- he looks worse than he’d thought. He traces his fingers across his jaw, over the line of his own nose- and with a pang in his chest, Steve realizes that he doesn’t even recognize the person staring back at him.

He turns away, fighting back more burning tears, and heads back towards the med tent.

Bucky’s out cold for the rest of the night. Steve sits silently in a chair placed by the foot of the bed and tells the nurse, “Just a few more minutes, please.”

The nurse comes to check Bucky’s vitals one more time, just after nightfall. She makes eye contact with Steve for a split second, and then leaves without a word. He’s grateful. Steve sits with Bucky all through the night.

He rests his hand on Bucky’s leg- the man doesn’t flinch away from the touch in his sleep- and looks at him. This whole situation still feels like a fever dream- at any time, he expects himself to jerk awake to some assistant leaning over him and saying, “Showtime in twenty! Get up, Captain!”

That doesn’t happen tonight, though. Steve rests his chin in his free palm and falls asleep that way, his other hand wrapped around Bucky’s calf.

When he wakes the next morning, it’s to the nurse prodding his arm with the corner of a food tray.

“Peggy Carter is asking for you outside,” she says by way of greeting, before turning to Bucky and smiling. “Good morning, darlin’.”

Steve blinks the last of the sleep from his eyes, sitting up straight and glancing at Bucky. The latter is awake, barely- his eyes are narrowed to slits as he stares at the food that the nurse has set on his lap.

Steve’s hand had left Bucky’s leg sometime in the night, and is now laying aimlessly in the blankets a foot or so away.

“I’ll see you later, Buck,” he says, before standing and exiting the tent.

“Sleep well?” Peggy asks him as he approaches her, before turning on her heel and striding off- leaving Steve no choice but to follow her.

“Real funny,” he quips back dryly, running a hand through his hand to tame it a bit. “Where are we going?”

“Meeting,” she answers simply, holding the door to the main office for him. He ducks inside with a heavy sigh.

As it turns out, meetings keep them occupied for the greater part of the day. What’s worse is that Steve cannot recall a single thing discussed in any of them, because he keeps falling asleep in his chair. Peggy has kicked his shin under the table so many times that he’s sure it’s bruised, even with the serum.

They make him write up three different copies of the same report, with people breathing down his neck the entire time. He makes sure the details all line up- he’s telling the truth, so of course they do. He runs out of ink twice before he’s finished with the third report. All three files are taken by different men, and Steve sits at the table in perplexity until Peggy stops laughing at him.

“It’s a big deal, Steve,” she reminds him, softly. “This is just the beginning.”

Steve slips away to the med tent immediately after he’s released. His stomach growls but he doesn’t want to stop for food- he still feels an undercurrent of nausea with every movement, after all.

The nurse from the night prior catches sight of him as he enters- visiting hours are over, again- and goes back to cleaning equipment while very much so pretending that Steve isn’t there. He sighs in relief, before slipping back into Bucky’s curtained-off section.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his gaze immediately locking back onto him. He’s sat upright, now, and his eyes are much clearer. The scrapes on his face are even completely healed- and the IV is out of his arm.

“Hey, you,” Bucky says back, his eyes. flicking up to meet Steve’s gaze. A faint smile spreads on his lips- a bit more of the weight on Steve’s shoulders fades away.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve sits down in the same chair from earlier, and wants to put his hand on Bucky’s knee again- but fears a repeat of the reaction that he got the day prior. “You look even better.”

“I feel fine,” Bucky confirms, flexing his hands as if to prove his own point. “’m surprised. Whatever they gave me in that IV did the trick. What ‘bout you?”

Steve chuckles, dropping his gaze to the blankets on the cot. “The- uh, the serum. Took care of all my injuries before we even got back.”

“Good,” Bucky answers, simply.

A beat of silence.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Steve finally continues, lowering his gaze even farther until he’s examining the tarp-covered floor. It’s dusty, he notes.

“What, all this?” Bucky asks, tilting his head curiously. “Nah, Stevie. I’ve been here longer than you have, don’t go forgettin’ that.”

Steve throat tightens notably at Bucky’s use of ‘Stevie’- so casual, so familiar.

Bucky continues, “Or, do you mean… you?”

Steve grits his teeth, pressing his tongue against them. Then, he looks up and makes eye contact with the silver gaze he knows so well. “I-I guess, yeah.”

“Glad to see that serum didn’t fix that stutter of yours,” Bucky laughs, flashing a hollow- but dazzling- grin Steve’s way.

“It’s not a stut-.”

“I know, I know, it only happens when ya get nervous.” Another godforsaken beat of silence passes. “Why’re ya nervous talkin’ to me, Stevie? I’m the same Buck as before, scout’s honor.”

Steve has to forcefully swallow around the lump in his throat, again. It’s almost enough to bring tears back to prick at his eyes. “Are you?”

“O’ course.”

“I’m not, you know?”

“Not the same Buck as before? ‘Course not, Stevie- you can’t be _me._ ”

“Bucky-,” Steve begins, his voice cracking. He combs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “God, Buck-. When they told me you were _dead_ …”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Bucky’s voice immediately drops an octave- smoother, now. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Do you know how that felt? To have my worst nightmare come true right in front of me?”

Bucky stays silent.

“I felt _paralyzed._ But, also, the opposite- the only logical course of action was to come find you. But my head, my thoughts, my _lungs_ were paralyzed. If you were dead, Bucky-.” Steve has to stop himself before the tears spill over. One, the traitor, rolls down his cheek anyway. He scrubs it away hastily, his stubble scraping the side of his hand. “Sorry.”

“Don’t go apologizin’.”

“Okay,” Steve laughs, tone tinged with desperation, and longing, but mostly _relief_. “Okay. What now, Buck?”

“We beg the nurse to let me out and we get back at it, yeah?”

“Back at it?” Steve echoes, not able to help the surprise from seeping into his tone. “Bucky, they’re gonna send you home. Honorable discharge, all sorts of medals. You’re done.”

Of all the responses Steve is expecting, a guttural laugh is not one of them. Bucky clasps a hand over his stomach and leans back, his chin tipped up.

“That’s cute, real cute,” he shakes his head, with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “They think they’re gettin’ rid of me that easily? I’m not goin’ home til the rest of us do. Not takin’ the quick way out.”

“You, of _all_ people, deserve to-.”

“You stop that. I’m fine. I’ve got no right to do any less than anyone else.”

“You can’t quote myself to me,” Steve says, after a pause. He doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of Bucky’s goddamn mouth right now, that’s for certain. “It’s not fair. I’m not a famous author or nothin’.”

“Steve!” a familiar voice calls from outside the tent.

“I’ve gotta go,” Steve says, regretfully. He stands and before he leaves, he reaches out to pat Bucky’s shoulder- to just _touch_ him and make sure that he’s really there, that he’s not a fever dream or a hallucination or-.

Bucky leans to the side ever-so-slightly, and Steve’s hand falls short.

Steve swallows, gives him a tense nod, and slips out of the tent.

..

_“You hungry, Stevie?”_

_The door clicks as Bucky shuts it behind him- Steve can picture it, Bucky nudging the door shut with his toe as he stumbles into their kitchen with his arms full of bags from the market._

_“Yeah! Be right there!”_

_Steve closes his sketchbook, carefully placing his good colored pencils into their tin. He strokes his deft fingers around the smooth, rounded sides of them before closing their container and placing them, and his sketchbook, back into their place under the couch cushion._

_The boy stands, reaching his skinny arms high above his head in a stretch. His eyes flutter to a close as he lets out a yawn; the pleasant summer heat is just enough to lull him into a sort of sleepy trance all day, content and warm. Bucky often compares him to a cat._

_Steve’s shirt slides up his sides as he stretches- and fingers ghost along the exposed patch of bare skin._

_He gasps, flinching back and snapping open his eyes to glare playfully at Bucky, who has masterfully snuck into the living room while Steve had been distracted- like some sort of assassin._

_“Gotcha’,” Bucky teases, reaching out again for Steve- who lets himself be pulled in close to the taller man, who ruffles his hair and places a careful kiss to his forehead. “I bought some of that fancy bread you like, and ‘m gonna reheat last night’s stew. Sound decent?”_

_“That’s fine by me,” Steve confirms, reaching up and brushing his lips to Bucky’s before twisting out of the man’s grasp and padding into the kitchen. “Dibs on the last of the butter!”_

_“Not a chance, scrappy.”_

..

Another briefing eats up the last hours of the evening. It’s mind-numbing, and dull, but Peggy is by his side the whole time, and he receives praise from everyone he encounters.

“They’re bringing word back to the President, son,” one tells him with a tight smile. “You’re a national hero.”

The doctor clears Bucky that same evening. Steve doesn’t hear about it- he doesn’t know about it at all- until he returns to his barracks and sees Bucky sitting on the edge of a cot.

“There you are,” Bucky says, standing. Other soldiers mill around in the barracks; some lay in their cots, while others play cards- betting cigarettes and chocolate rations. “They told me that I’m stayin’ in here now. Said you can keep an eye on me, huh?”

“You’re- you’re out?”

“Yeah, dumbass. ‘m standing right in front of you.”

“That’s- okay. Good. The bunk above mine is open.”

“Dibs, then. Anyway, I’m starving. Aren’t you?”

They finish their food quickly, just as the sky begins to color the landscape with streaks of orange and red. Steve makes to head back to the barracks and get a few hours of sleep before they’re dragged out of bed in the morning with news of an impending attack, or some ‘pertinent intel’ that means absolutely nothing to anyone.

But, on their way back, they’re accosted by a group of young soldiers- none of which either of them know personally- and to Steve’s great surprise, Bucky doesn’t protest the interruption.

Steve follows blindly, like a lost puppy, and ends up sitting on a log, a few feet away from Bucky, as a dramatic retelling of Bucky’s first firefight begins.

The bright-eyed boys are all so helplessly enraptured by the ex-prisoner of war that they hardly pay Captain America any mind- and thank God for that. One does pass him a cigarette, which he declines.

Steve couldn’t smoke before the serum, and Captain America hasn’t had time to pick up the habit since.

..

_“The hell’re you doin’ out here so late?” A familiar voice calls up from the open window. Footsteps thump on the floor below Steve, and then a head peeks out and looks up at him. “You’re gonna fall, you moron.”_

_“Nah, I’m fine,” Steve replies, swinging his skinny legs back-and-forth from where he’s sitting on the edge of the roof, just a scramble up from his bedroom window. “Come on up. Good view of the moon.”_

_Bucky curses under his breath, but then Steve hears the fire escape clang as his heavy work boots make contact with the metal. A short second later, Bucky’s hefting himself up beside Steve with those muscled arms of his, and shuffling to press against the lither boy’s side._

_Bucky drapes an arm across Steve’s shoulders, rifling through his own pocket with his other hand. He produces a box of smokes and a lighter, and a moment later, he has a glowing cigarette caught between his lips._

_Steve watches, eyes narrowed, as Bucky exhales a puff of smoke. It dissipates quickly, fading into the dark expanse of the sky and drifting up, towards the stars._

_“Want one?” Bucky asks, turning his gaze onto Steve. His eyes are fond, and they glow the same way that the moon does._

_“You tryna’ kill me?” Steve laughs, swatting his side halfheartedly. He presses closer, the chill of the night finally seeping underneath the layers of his jacket._

_“Just trying to include you, Stevie,” Bucky chuckles, tightening the arm that’s laying across Steve’s shoulders._

_A comfortable silence falls; Steve watching the way that the tendrils of smoke snake up into the sky, and then melt away just as quickly as they’d been born. Bucky is just watching the way that the moonlight reflects off of Steve’s features._

..

It’s far too late into the evening when the young boys finally scamper off to their barracks, leaving Bucky and Steve alone on the log. At some point during the evening, a small fire had been set in the middle of the clearing- to warm everyone’s hands. As the two soldiers sit in silence, Bucky tosses bits of bark from the log into the fire.

The flames crackle and pop, sending sparks out around themselves as the hot tendrils dance their way into the sky. The smoke is thick and dark, and as the wind changes, it blows towards Steve. He holds his breath, turning away from it and exhaling measuredly. He doesn’t want to smell smoke ever again, for as long as he lives.

_“No, not without you!”_

“What happens now?” Steve says, interrupting his own thoughts before they spiral and pull him under in that cursed whirlpool. “I didn’t expect you to be released that quickly.”

“Whadda’ya mean, what now?” Bucky laughs, finally turning to look at his friend. His eyes glow with the reflection of the fire, orange and yellow light projected onto his sharp features. In the illuminating light, he looks worse than he had in the med tent- more weathered; hollow. “I told ya. We keep soldering on like everyone else. When we’re done, we go home, ‘n we go back to normal.”

It sounds so simple. Steve swallows heavily, wringing his hands out in front of him. He digs the toe of his boot into the dirt. “It’s not that easy. I- Captain America, I mean- isn’t just a soldier like everyone else. I’m worse, I’m propaganda.”

“You don’t think that after that heroic rescue they’ll promote ya?” Bucky laughs, and the sound tugs at Steve’s heartstrings.

He sputters, furrowing his brow. “I hadn’t… thought about that. I was expecting to be court-martialed, not praised.”

Bucky murmurs his acknowledgement.

“It’s me and you now, sport.” Bucky turns his head skyward. Steve’s eyes trace the line of his throat, stubble shadowing his fair skin. “Best friends have ta’ look out for each other, right? No different here.”

Steve chokes out a relieved laugh, rubbing his palms on his knees. He kicks some dirt over the fire and it dwindles to nothing more than a small pit of embers; his chest feels the same way.

“’Best friends’ is a real interesting way of describing us, Buck,” he says, hushed, before glancing around to make sure that they’re well and truly alone. He scoots closer, only a foot or so between them now.

“How’d’ you mean?”

Steve’s voice shrivels up and dies right there, on his tongue. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, before standing up abruptly. “Nevermind. Let’s get to bed; you need some sleep.”

He sees to it that Bucky gets to his cot, and he watches as the latter meticulously folds his uniform, laying it on the foot of his top bunk bed. He sets his boots neatly at the base of the ladder.

..

_“Buck! Clean some of these clothes up, you damn slob! Your ma’ would kill me for letting you live like this!”_

_An echoing laugh sounds from the kitchen in response, and Steve can hear the clatter of silverware as the dishes that Bucky’d been drying are dropped onto the counter._

_“You’re the one that threw them there! Last night, if memory serves,” comes the witty reply, once the laughter dies down._

_Steve turns beet red, all the way to the tips of his ears, before he bends to pick up the scraps of Bucky’s clothing from his own bedroom floor. He tosses them all into his laundry basket with a whisper of a smile on his face._

..

When Bucky’s breathing evens out, Steve slips out of the barracks. He pauses briefly just outside, rubbing at his temples and sighing heavily. He glances back inside once, before turning and wandering off.

He trails around base, his hands jammed into his pockets, not really caring where the hell he’s even heading. He ends up weaving a path between the tents and buildings, unconsciously heading towards the main office, where Peggy would be.

Steve stops when he reaches the door. The wooden porch wraparound is dirtied, muddy footprints stamped onto the dark surface. he lingers, one hand on the railing. Then, the door opens.

Golden light floods out of the office, a familiar silhouette backlit by it. One hand on her hip, Peggy Carter cocks her head and gives Steve the most piercing look that he has ever been on the receiving end of- well, ever since his ma’ was alive, that is.

He dips his chin to his chest to hide his chuckle, before straightening up.

“Good evening, Captain,” Peggy says.

Steve flashes her his ever-so-charming smile- but even he can tell that it probably looks a little forced. It _feels_ forced, that’s for damn certain. Peggy notices, because of course she does- she’s Peggy Carter.

“Come on in.”

Steve brushes past her in the doorway with a grateful tip of his head. The office is empty, thanks to the late hour, but Peggy’s desk is piled high with papers and maps. A bottle of scotch sits, unopened, on the edge of it.

Peggy lets the door swing shut with a soft thunk before striding back over to her desk, sharp heels clicking on the wooden floor. Her red lipstick glows in the golden light, and Steve can’t help but let his gaze drift to it.

“How’s your friend doing after everything, hm?” She sits down at her desk and crosses her legs, looking attentively up at Steve. His skin prickles; it’s almost as if she’s staring right through his skull.

Steve leans against her desk and sighs, for the umpteenth time that night, while pondering an answer that is honest, but doesn’t give too much away,

After all, if Captain America was to say, “Bucky and I used to fuck, but now he won’t even let me touch him,” he’d be stripped of his title and sent home with a potato sack over his head.

“He’s better than I thought he’d be,” Steve finally settles on, the words stinging as they leave his tongue. “Which I don’t think is a good thing.”

Peggy just hums as she reaches for the scotch, her nails clicking on the bottle as she opens it. Steve’s eyes lazily track the golden liquid; it sloshes around as Peggy pours it into two glasses that she procured from within a desk drawer. She raises her eyebrows at Steve, as if encouraging him to continue while she pours their drinks.

“He doesn’t seem phased by any of it. He was strapped to a table and drugged out of his mind- which didn’t wear off until this morning, mind you- and he just spent two hours chatting with some bushy-tailed kids by a campfire.” Steve chuckles bitterly, taking the glass that Peggy offers him. He notes that the one she hands to him has a substantially greater amount of liquid in it than her own does- he needs it more, he supposes, and she knows it.

“Do you think the return to normalcy is just most comforting to him?

“That’s just it- he’s not acting normal, though,” Steve exclaims, before taking a greedy sip of the scotch. It burns and he cherishes the feeling, taking another swig before forcing himself to continue. “I _know_ him, Peg. I’ve known him my entire damned life, it feels like, and nothing he’s doing right now is normal. At all.”

“The war changes people, Steve,” she says, carefully. She swirls the liquid in her own glass around pensively. “Maybe he hasn’t been the same guy as before ever since he first shipped out. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough to warrant-,” Steve cuts himself off, his voice too thick with emotion to continue in any sort of dignified manner. Another sip of scotch clears it right up, and he finishes, “Not that long. He- I know him. The war hasn’t broken him yet, I swear it. He’s- he’s remembering how everything was before, but, he’s only halfway correct. He’s mostly the same, but not entirely. He’s Bucky, but he’s not… _my_ Bucky.”

“Maybe he’s avoiding some of those things because they’re too painful to recount right now,” she suggests. “Maybe they’re things about his past that he misses, and can’t have while he’s here, so he’s trying to forget them. To protect himself. What, exactly, is he forgetting?”

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Nevermind, it doesn’t even matter. Give him some time to process everything. He’ll come back around.”

Steve knocks back the rest of the scotch before placing the glass down on Peggy’s desk with a thump. “Thank you, Peggy. That- no, _you_ \- helped.”

The woman leans back in her chair and nods, a faint smile on her lips, watching Steve thoughtfully as he departs.

..

Most everyone in the barracks is out cold when Steve returns. Silent as a mouse, he strips out of his rumpled uniform and changes into the t-shirt and sweatpants they’d given him to sleep in.

He’s always felt a bit spoiled, sleeping in sweatpants, while the other soldiers sleep in their undershirts and boxers.

Come to think of it, he’s always felt like a bit of an imposter, sleeping in the barracks with real soldiers when all he did was put on shows. But, now, after the last few days… he feels a little more like he’s one of them.

His blankets rustle as he lowers himself onto his cot, halfheartedly fluffing his pillow before sighing and staring up at the wire underside of the top bunk. He can see the dip in it from Bucky’s weight atop it.

Steve’s gaze shifts to look around the barracks. The canvas tent material enclosing them is thick, but not thick enough to block out the ever-piercing silver moonlight. He can make out the outline of the moon through the fabric- a comforting realization.

Many of the soldiers are snoring- some quietly, most not. Others murmur, turning their heads back and forth during both good and bad dreams. Sleep is never quiet nor deep in times of war, even Steve knows that.

Bucky, though. Bucky is silent.

..

_Steve jolts awake to an echo of a scream dying in his ears. He lurches upright, looking around wildly until his gaze lands on Bucky- sitting straight up in bed, the blankets pooling around his waist as he scrambles back to press against the headboard._

_The latter lets out a choked sob, dropping his head into his hands and letting his shoulders shake as his racing heart tries so hard- so desperately- to slow itself._

_“Buck?” Steve tries, tentatively. He inches closer, shoving the blankets off of himself and placing a soft hand on Bucky’s shoulder._

_The man startles, jerking his head up and letting his hazy silver eyes focus on Steve._

_“Sorry. Didn’t mean t’ wake you,” he manages, his voice crackling and small. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, it’s the middle o’ the night.”_

_Steve ignores him, instead wrapping a thin arm around Bucky’s shoulders. The latter’s eyes flutter shut and he swallows thickly before turning into Steve’s embrace. He slots his chin into the smaller boy’s collarbone and presses his damp eyes to the pale skin of Steve’s neck._

_“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs soothingly, his other hand pressing against Bucky’s back, long fingers stroking up and down. “You’re okay, I’ve gotcha.”_

_Bucky’s body eventually stops trembling, and the pair slide down the headboard until they’re laying side-by-side, with Bucky’s head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder. It can’t be comfortable, but Bucky stays there all night._

_Steve doesn’t sleep a wink, instead sitting up and listening to the beat of Bucky’s heart. As the rate picks up, he strokes his hand up and down the man’s arm. Goosebumps follow, and his heartbeat slows. Steve fends off all of the nightmares that dare to threaten Bucky that night._

..

Steve sits up all night, his eyes wide open and staring at the glow of the moon. The other soldiers toss and turn; some get up and walk around during the night. A few even leave the barracks for a smoke.

Bucky’s top bunk is quiet. He turns over, once, in his sleep. Nothing more. Steve strains his ears, but even the serum hadn’t sharpened his hearing enough to pick up Bucky’s heartbeat from five feet below the man.

He stares at the outline of the moon until it disappears completely, and the bright rays of dawn take its place.

Bucky is so, so silent.

..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have put more effort into this specific story than any other works of mine. Seeing such a polished product is encouraging, and the process was insanely humbling.
> 
> That said, constructive criticism is more than welcomed- in fact, encouraged. As are any general comments expressing your like, dislike, outright adoration or blatant hatred for the chapter you've just read.
> 
> I will begin work on the second chapter soon and have it up hopefully at this same time next week. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at this link: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rkgoldpeak . If you're interested in getting early information about chapters (of this fic and other future ones), hearing me rant about writing, or just looking at the pretty Chris Evans gifs I reblog, that's the place to be.


	2. the smallest of revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for Hydra flashbacks, mild description of injury and medical treatment, and vague descriptions of the symptoms of an oncoming panic attack.
> 
> Here's chapter 2 for you all, technically on time, since it's not quite midnight where I am. 8600+ words of decently-written fic.

“Rogers! Barnes!”

With a start, Steve scrambles into a sitting position. He chucks the blanket off of himself and peers up at the man standing over him. Dazedly, he says, “Sir?”

The skinny man standing there says, “Carter is asking for both of you in her office. Get breakfast quickly and get over there. She said it was ‘of utmost importance.’”

“What’s so import-?” Steve begins, but the boy cuts him off with an irritated sigh.

“I’m just the messenger, Captain,” he says, before turning on his heel and slipping out of the barracks.

Steve groans, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He hadn’t slept a bit, but in the earliest hours of the morning- just after the dawn had made an appearance- he’d fallen into a bit of a trance, caught up in his thoughts, which had seemed to be swirling around him like water around a drain.

“Are you awake, Buck?” Steve calls out, leaning forward and glancing up at the top bunk.

An affirmative grunt serves as a reply. Steve watches as Bucky deftly lowers himself down the shoddy ladder of the bunk bed, hopping off the lower rung and landing on the floor silently, with the grace of an assassin.

“You heard the boy,” Bucky says by way of greeting, his voice rough from sleep. He flashes the still-dazed Steve a patented Bucky Barnes smirk. “You gonna get dressed, or are we gonna go wearing these?”

With a chuckle, Steve stands, stretching his arms high above his head as he lets out a little yawn. His shirt rides up his flank- Bucky’s eyes flick to the expanse of pale skin before he steels himself and leans down to grab his boots. They sit neatly at the bottom of the ladder- where Bucky had placed them the night before. Steve notes that he’d already put on his previously meticulously-folded shirt back on.

Changing quickly into his own uniform, Steve flattens out the winkles as best he can with the palms of his hands. He stashes his nightclothes in his knapsack, and stashes that under the bed, before sitting down beside Bucky and beginning to lace up his own boots.

Bucky’s done with his own boots, but he sits next to Steve silently- as if allowing a moment of tenderness between them. Their legs almost touch, almost brush together- they don’t, though.

Instead, Steve feels his neck prickle as Bucky’s metallic gaze rakes over his form, not judgingly- but observationally, almost. Like he’s committing the details to memory. Steve doesn’t know why that unnerves him so much.

 _Get your head in the game, Rogers,_ he tells himself, before standing up and giving Bucky his best Captain America smile. “Ready to go, Buck?”

“I was before you were, ya’ doofus,” Bucky murmurs with an amused shake of his head, tousled hair flopping to the side endearingly. He stands back and allows Steve to lead the way out of the barracks.

When the pair arrives at the mess hall, it’s crowded. Packed full of restless and anticipatory soldiers, the energy within is unnerving, if not contagious. No new orders have come since the return from Azanno- command is probably too busy cleaning up that mess, Steve notes- but the threat of the Germans still looms heavy on the horizon. Morale is up, for sure, but the general mood isn’t too great. Steve would describe the environment as _courageous, but terrified._

They grab their food from the long, but fast-moving, line, and sit down at the end of one of the only less-crowded tables. Most of the tables are packed from edge-to-edge, so the little safe-haven they’ve found is somewhat of a miracle. The young soldiers at the other end of the table bicker back and forth, jostling eachother and tossing food across. Their rowdiness is more amusing than it is annoying, and Steve finds himself sharing an entertained glance with Bucky.

“Don’t laugh, Stevie,” Bucky chides, but he chuckles, despite himself. “They’ll be sorry when their commanding officer hands their asses to them on the same trays they’re eatin’ off of right now.”

Steve huffs his own little laugh, staring down at his plate of food as a smile makes itself known across his own face.

The food on Bucky’s plate disappears quicker than it’d been placed there, the soldier scarfing it down as if it is oxygen. Steve, on the other hand, picks at his food with disinterest and only manages to eat less than half of it- nausea still swirls deep in his gut, seeping into every bone in his body, poking at the back of his throat…

Every time he swallows, he tastes smoke.

“You want the rest of mine?” Steve offers, sliding his tray across to Bucky.

“You not gonna eat it?” Bucky asks, but his eyes are trained on the still-warm bread and beans.

“Nah,” Steve shrugs. “Not hungry. Coffee, though, I’d like some of that. You?”

Bucky’s too busy inhaling Steve’s food to answer, so the latter presumes his answer to be a ‘no’ and only gets one cup, for himself. The coffee is watery and lukewarm but it’s better than nothing, so he fills a cup all the way to the brim before carefully making his way back to Bucky.

“That gonna be enough for you?” Bucky jokes, gesturing to the almost-overflowing cup in Steve’s hand. His brow creases as he takes in the latter’s appearance, as if for the first time that morning, and says, “You look tired.”

Steve nods before taking a big swig of it, sighing contentedly when it hits his throat.

“Let’s get goin’, before Carter has our heads, yeah?” Bucky asks, sliding their trays down to the edge of the table. Steve knocks back the rest of his coffee and tosses the cup in the garbage.

The two make their way through the ever-crowded camp, all the way back to the offices. The memories of last night surge back to Steve and he grimaces as he makes his way up the few steps leading to the doorway. Again, the door swings open before he can even reach the handle.

“Boys!” the sharp voice of none other than Peggy Carter calls out, cutting through the morning fog. “Hurry it up. We’re all waiting on you!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky tips his head as he and Steve scurry up the stairs and duck through the doorway, into the office.

Peggy’s desk looks the same as it did the night prior, the only difference being that the bottle of scotch is now half-empty rather than full. Steve laughs under his breath.

“Through here,” Peggy says, guiding them into a conference room off to the side.

A large, oval table takes up the length of the rectangular space. Six chairs sit on each long side, and one at the head. Opposite from the head chair, a cart full of communications equipment resides, beside a stack of notepads and a small typewriter.

At one of the long sides sit six very stern-looking men- each with dark hair slicked back, and shining pins and badges adorning their pressed uniforms. Nametags read out their last names- Steve sees a Kingston, Jeffries, and a Nashville. He has never met any of them in his life.

Peggy sits herself at the head of the table, crossing her legs and shuffling the large stack of papers in front of her.

“Sit, boys,” she says to the two, gesturing at the chairs closest to her. “We are going to begin shortly. Now, Steve, what’s important to remember is that, even though these circumstances may be… unusual, it’s important that you tell the truth as best as you can, and with as much detail as you can bare to recount. Understood?”

Two more people shuffle into the room, a woman and a man. Both wear standard-issue uniforms, and one sits down by the typewriter. The other, the woman, grabs a notepad and a pen. They look to the assembled group expectantly.

“Regrettably, there is no time for introductions,” Peggy notes, pulling a few papers from the middle of her stack. She thumbs through those until she finds the one she’s apparently looking for, bringing it to the front. Steve recognizes it immediately; it’s the first copy of the report on Azanno- he’d only given it the day prior.

“Not this again-,” Steve begins, his jaw clenching- but Peggy shoots him the sharpest look he’s ever seen from her. It shuts him right up.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Bucky quips, stretching up and grinning at Peggy over Steve’s head. The woman smiles briskly, a bit of the tension fading.

“Right. Captain Rogers, in a moment, I’ll ask you to please take us all through the night of the rescue in Azanno once more.” Peggy shoots him another glance, this one a little more apologetic, but still characteristically fierce. Never anything less than that with Agent Carter, of course.

Steve sighs, his shoulders deflating a bit as his eyes narrow in frustration. Bucky tenses next to him- no one but Steve notices, the latter is willing to bet. He wants to press his foot against Bucky’s under the table but doesn’t know how that’d be received- and the thought of causing a scene makes him wince. No, he won’t, then.

“All due respect, Agent Carter, I’ve written three separate reports on this subject, and given another debrief on top of that- just last night, in fact. Why is this necessary?”

“Has no-one told him?” one of the stern men across the table finally speaks up, his voice inquisitive but laced with something darker. Steve can’t place what it is, but he doesn’t like it. “Oh, boy.”

Peggy shoots the man a look of daggers, and then the boy at the front of the table speaks up. “Connecting to D.C in 3…2…1. You’re on speakerphone.”

“Hello, Mr. President,” Peggy says immediately, leaning forward in her chair. Her tone is clipped, sharp, but polished with respect. “Good morning. We are very sorry to bother you at such an hour.”

“Never a bother, Agent Carter.”

Steve feels the exact moment that every last molecule of oxygen leaves his lungs- and desperately regrets eating anything at all this morning, because it’s all about to come right back up. He risks a glance at Bucky out of the corner of his eye, who is staring at the communications equipment with a bewildered expression. He turns back to Steve and mouths, ‘Roosevelt?’

“Sir, Steve Rogers is here with us right now, along with Bucky Barnes. Captain Rogers will give you, and everyone else present, including my scribes- another debrief of the Azanno rescue.”

“Ah, Captain America,” President Roosevelt says, and if he was in the room, Steve knows that he’d be on the receiving end of yet another uncomfortably piercing gaze. “Our hero of the hour.”

“Apparently so, sir,” Steve stutters out, turning his gaze to his lap where his fingers lace together nervously.

A boot brushes his calf under the table, and he sneaks another glance at Bucky, who is looking at him with unmasked pride in his silver eyes. Emboldened, Steve clasps his hands instead, and rests them atop the table.

“Let’s begin, then,” Roosevelt says. There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, as if he is leaning back in his chair.

“Typewriter and notes, good to go?” one of the men with the slicked-back hair asks, glancing at the young man and woman at the front of the room.

“Yes, sir,” both of them echo.

“Go on, Captain Rogers,” Peggy says, her own voice smoother now.

“It started when I was informed that Bucky- sorry, that Sergeant Barnes was believed to have been k-killed in action,” Steve starts out weakly, taking a deep breath to calm his twisting chest before continuing, “I admit that I wasn’t thinking clearly after that. Stark, Howard Stark, that is- agreed to fly me over enemy airspace and drop me near the warehouse, so I could make sure for certain that Sergeant Barnes was- wasn’t alive. Make sure he was, really, dead. And, of course, find out what had happened to the other… other soldiers.”

“Agent Carter was on the plane with us. She detested the whole idea from the start but knew stopping me would’ve just led to me doing something stupider by myself- I will repeat that none of this was her idea or her fault as many times as it takes to make that a point, sir.” Peggy’s eyes gleam with what looks like gratefulness and Steve relaxes incrementally. “The plane then came under enemy fire. I didn’t want Stark or Carter to risk their lives any further than they already had, so I left the plane early.”

Bucky huffs the quietest laugh from beside Steve, tinged with only the slightest bit of desperation. His foot nudges Steve’s calf again, and the later sets his jaw. “I landed beyond the outskirts of the warehouse, and leapt into the back of a transport vehicle. I disabled the soldiers inside and rode onto the grounds undetected.”

“I fought my way into the depths of the warehouse, sneaking past guards. I was as quiet as I could be, and only took out who I needed to in order to gain further access. I want that to be clear- I wasn’t on a vindictive mission of any sort. I had no personal vendettas against any of the staff there. My only motivation was to get Sergeant Barnes- and the rest of the soldiers- back.” He takes a shuddering breath, pausing for a moment.

“Go on,” Roosevelt encourages, tone thoughtful.

“I took out a guard and snatched a key from him. That’s when I stumbled across the holding cells that most of our soldiers were in. I unlocked some of them, and told them to get the others out, and to leave.”

“I kept going deeper into the warehouse, looking for- well, to be honest, Mr. President, I don’t know what I was looking for. But, I found Arnim Zola. He saw me, and took off running down a corridor. I chased after him, and was running past a room, when I heard Sergeant Barnes’ voice.” Steve glances over at Bucky again, who has shifted his gaze to stare harshly at the wooden table. His fists are clenched, knuckles white where they rest in his lap. Steve’s chest tightens, a pang resonating throughout his heart. “That’s when I saw him- strapped to the table, but alive. I got him out of the restraints and helped him out of the room. I couldn’t go after Zola; Barnes was in too bad of shape. I started to look for a way out for both of us when some explosions began to go off.”

Bucky flinches- Steve feels like a noose around his heart has just cinched itself as tight as it can go. He feels sick, purely sick- he clenches his jaw again.

“We saw Zola, and Dr. Johann Schmidt across a bridge from us. Schmidt began to walk towards us, so I left Bucky on the landing and stepped up to meet him halfway. Before anything major could happen, Zola pulled Schmidt back towards him.”

“When I say this, Mr. President, please realize that I say it with one-hundred percent certainty and no trace of humor. Then, Dr. Schmidt pulled the skin off of his face and revealed nothing but muscle and skull. The two of them fled together.” Steve cringes at the memory, even more nausea swirling in his gut. “We kept looking for a way out. The only way was a precarious beam, well above the explosions on the ground floor. I sent Barnes across first. The beam collapsed, he barely made it across.”

The foot on his calf nudges him again, and Steve bites back a choking sob.

_“Just go!”_

_“No, not without you!”_

“I bent the railing back and leapt across; I barely made it, as well. Then, we left the warehouse and met up with the other soldiers who had fought their way out. We left the territory as quickly as we could. We were all suffering from smoke inhalation-.”

“Thank you, Captain Rogers,” Carter says, cutting him off, before focusing her attention back on the files in front of her. “It’s on par with earlier reports, Mr. President.”

“Of course, it is; I’d never lie-.”

“You’re going to have to, Mr. Rogers,” President Roosevelt says- Steve can picture the man grimacing on the other end of the line. It’s apparent in his tone.

Steve swallows, glancing to Peggy for reassurance- but she’s staring at the communications device, now- with a focused expression.

“I, my most trusted advisors, including those from National Security, and the military, and Eleanor herself- have already discussed your circumstances. We came to the conclusion, unanimously, that your actions in Azanno were reckless, irresponsible, and inexcusable. You put the image and health of our country herself at risk. It’s a miracle that we’re not court-martialing you- I damn sure want to.”

Just like how Steve could pinpoint the time that all the air left his lungs, he can now pinpoint the exact moment that pure, unadulterated rage takes its place. Fiery red and hot, it fills his lungs until it overflows, leaking out into every other nerve in his body. The audacity-!

“Your first mistake was leaping out of that plane,” Roosevelt continues with what sounds like a sour chuckle. “You could’ve died then and there, and then what? We have to explain to the people how everyone’s favorite patriot went _splat_ in enemy territory, huh? In hindsight, I wish that’d been all that had happened.”

Steve stiffens, eyes flaring, and he _knows_ that he’s got to be glowing red. Bucky straightens up, too, and places a tentative hand on Steve’s forearm. Just like that, all the fight floods out of him and he breaks the staring match he had been having with the wall- just to glance at Bucky, with all the uncertainty and straight _hurt_ prevalent in his own gaze. _The President wishes he had died._

“Your second mistake was with the soldiers,” Roosevelt continues, ruthlessly. “Do you know how many of them died when you- what’re they calling it, now? Oh, right, ‘liberated’ them? Rogers, do you? Tell me?”

Peggy speaks up, coming to Steve’s rescue, “He doesn’t, sir.”

Roosevelt pauses, as if he’s about to demand that Rogers himself says it, admits that he doesn’t know the extents of his own decisions, his own actions-.

The tendrils of the red-hot anger snaking through Steve’s veins turn sickly-green as a bout of guilt surges through him, like a crashing wave. The room begins to spin, he thinks- oh, yeah, it’s definitely spinning.

“Fifty-two,” one of the men opposite him supplies, leaning forward to speak closer to Steve. His dark eyes staring right into Steve’s soul, he annunciates, “ _Fifty-two_ men died.”

Steve’s sure he’s going to throw up, now. Certain of it. The room is rocking like a ship in a storm, and he feels more seasick than ever- he grips the edges of the table, clenches his teeth, takes a shuddering breath. Fifty-two. Fifty-two!

Bucky strokes his foot up-and-down Steve’s leg, and he calms- just the slightest bit, barely enough to keep him from passing out, or crying, or both. He swallows around the nausea- but doesn’t know how many more times he can do that before he actually does vomit while on the phone with the President of these great United States.

The President that he doesn’t very much like right now, but the President no less.

“If you’d taken the time- any time- to plan an exit with the soldiers, those deaths could’ve been easily avoided,” Roosevelt scolds. “Instead, you set them out like a herd of cattle freed from slaughter. Terrified cattle. Why’d you do that, son?”

“I was looking for- for Zola.”

“No, Rogers. You’d already found Zola. You were looking for Barnes.”

Bucky sinks farther into his chair beside Steve, casting a sheepish and almost apologetic glance to the latter. Steve’s stomach tightens, anger seeping back into where the guilt had touched. It burns the back of his throat, tickles the backs of his eyes- he can’t cry, not now. He narrows his eyes.

“You killed fifty-two men to find your friend, who you weren’t even sure was alive. If you’d done it to really get Zola, it might have been excusable. But, as it stands, you let Zola get away _twice_ , if I recall? Then, you risked your own life again walking out onto that bridge, and then after that, leaping across- what I understand to have been a… flaming expanse of wartime weaponry?”

“That’s correct, sir,” one of the men pipes up, unhelpfully. Steve really wants to punch him, but settles for tightening his fists around the arms of his chair instead- before he accidentally splinters the table.

“Right. Rogers, you must understand my displeasure. Risking yourself, our image, and hundreds of soldiers for what- one sick man?”

“Mr. President, Sergeant Barnes is in the room,” Peggy reminds him, timidly. Her brows are furrowed, and she shoots a remorseful glance to Bucky- but he isn’t looking at Peggy, no, he’s looking at Steve. Where else?

“I don’t give a shit,” Roosevelt snaps.

“Mr. President,” Steve begins, his voice rougher than gravel. “With all due respect, that’s not very fair- in any sense of the word. Your own list of priorities places me at the top, the country in the middle, and the soldiers at the bottom. If anything, I should be at the bottom, sir.”

“I don’t disagree-,” Roosevelt continues, but Steve cuts him off- which earns a sharp intake of breath from both Bucky and Peggy.

“But, you have to realize this,” Steve snaps, exhaling measuredly to steel himself. Peggy sighs beside him, as if she knows what’s about to happen. “If I hadn’t made the effort to go after Bucky- Bucky Barnes, that is-, none of the soldiers would’ve made it out. I wouldn’t have been there in the first place. None of them. Fifty-two losses is fifty-two too many, but it’s still much less than what would have inevitably happened had I not been there. Bucky Barnes was, and is, a prisoner of war- aren’t we all, as well? Am I proud of how I went about rescuing him and the other soldiers? Not at all, Mr. President. Would I do it again? Without hesitation.”

Peggy is sporting a hint of a smile on her face, now, and a gleam of what looks to be pride in her brown eyes. Empowered, Steve continues, “You’re placing more value on Arnim Zola’s capture than on one of your very own Sergeant’s lives. I understand the pressure that you’re-.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I understand why you might want to have Zola in custody, but in the end, Barnes is one of our own and we owed it to hi to rescue him first. I will never stop believing that. Do I hate that I’m being hailed a hero? Yes. Do I think that I am a villain? No, _sir_ , I do not.”

“Rogers, you are way out of line-,” one of the men across- Kingston- starts, glaring at Steve with eyes aflame in rage- but Roosevelt cuts him off, surprisingly.

“That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Mr. President.”

“Rogers. I respect your… there’s no eloquent, or presidential way to say this, but I respect your guts. I don’t like the massive mess that you’ve made for my National Security and Public Relations teams to clean up, but I respect your damn guts.” Roosevelt sighs, heavily. “It’s imperative that the true nature and details of this mission are kept confidential. Everyone here will be signing non-disclosure agreements before they leave. I will be consulting with an advisement team about the nature of the discipline that you will receive, Rogers, but one thing’s for certain- you’re with us for the length of the war, now, and it’s your own damn fault because of the hero you’ve made yourself out to be.”

“I agree-.”

“Respectfully, Captain, I wasn’t asking. That’ll be all. Thank you, Agent Carter.”

“Goodbye, Mr. President,” Peggy says. The young man clicks off the line.

A beat of silence passes around the room- Steve looks down at his lap and knows that every single pair of eyes are on him.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, leaning closer to him. His foot moves up and down his calf once more. “You with us?”

Steve blinks away the hot wetness burning at his eyes, tilting his head just enough to meet Bucky’s gaze. He draws a rattling breath when the depth of the concern held in the latter’s silvery eyes becomes apparent. Steve’s breath catches a bit, almost unnoticeably, but Bucky’s eyes soften even more.

The woman at the front of the room opens a briefcase and pulls out packets of paper, sliding them down the table. Bucky grabs two and slides one to Steve- Peggy passes him a pen.

Steve’s hands are shaking so badly when he signs the non-disclosure agreement that he barely recognizes his own signature.

The room empties as the others sign their packets. Steve, Bucky, and Peggy are soon left alone, enveloped in an awkward silence of sorts. No one knows what to say- what could they, anyway? _Sorry that the President wants you dead?_

“Take a minute, or two, for yourself,” Peggy murmurs, collecting her papers and brushing past Steve- but not without placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I need you back here at midday.”

Steve sighs at the touch, and at the warmth radiating out from where she had touched his arm.

“How’re you doing?” Bucky asks, voice still low, as soon as the door swings shut behind Peggy. His foot finally stops brushing Steve’s calf- the latter’s breath catches at the loss of contact.

Of all the times for Bucky to start _touching_ Steve again, today- well, in hindsight, it had helped. So, decent timing, Steve supposes. Regardless, though, what had even changed?

“Come on,” Bucky says, after Steve ceases to respond. “Let’s go for a walk, get some fresh air. I’ve got a few minutes before I have ta’ get back to the nurses.”

“The nurses?” Steve echoes quietly, watching as Bucky rises to his own feet. Steve’s not mentally _there_ , not really. Bucky extends a hand for Steve to take.

“Yeah, more blood tests,” Bucky says, smiling as Steve grasps his hand and hoists himself up.

Their hands linger together, and Bucky gives a little squeeze before releasing his grip. Steve’s hand drops back to his side, like a deadweight.

..

_“You’ve got a letter, James!”_

_“Ooh, who’s it from? Your mistress, Barnes?”_

_Bucky snatches the letter out of his friend Ronnie’s grasp, his eyes already searching the faded yellow envelope for the return address. There- scribbled in blotchy black ink, in unmistakable penmanship- are the words:_ Steve G. Rogers.

_“Take my advice and rip it up, kid,” one of the older soldiers, by the last name as Canson, says. He’s leaning against a tree, picking at the bark, a cigarette held in the fingers of his other hand. “You’ll never see her again. Don’t torture yourself.”_

_“Never again?” Bucky echoes- even he realizes that it sounds a bit stupid. He moves his palm to cover the name on the envelope._

_“You still think you’re goin’ home?” Ronnie asks. “That’s cute, Barnes. Honestly, you should ‘a set your girl up with a nice friend of yours stateside, give yourself a worthy replacement. Now, she’s gonna be alone and sad for a long, long time.”_

_Bucky’s throat tightens a bit- suffocating. He swallows, forcing the tension away._

_“C’mon, man,” Bucky tries, weakly. “No stupid Nazis are gonna kill me. I’m goin’ home. Don’t know about you, though, with that red hair they’re gonna snipe you from a mile away.”_

_“That’s what we all used to think,” Canson pipes back up, dropping his cigarette to grind it up with the toe of his boot. “About comin’ home. Not about Ronnie- we_ still _think that about him. Okay- we had an old buddy, we called him Kansas, ‘cause he was from Kansas. He had an expecting wife at home with a two-year-old, and a Golden Retriever. We- Kansas an’ I- were camping inside enemy lines, on an intel mission. He was on watch, but got distracted re-reading a letter the wife had sent him. He got shot in the head, died with the letter in his hands. It was sent home with him, like that, in his casket, I heard. Do you wanna die like that, Barnes? More of all, do you want to do that to whoever you have back home? Make ‘em know that you were so distracted by them that you couldn’t even safe your own stupid life?”_

_“Forget about her, Barnes,” Ronnie says, placing a tentative hand on his left shoulder. His touch is cold, like metal._

_A pause. Then…_

_Bucky crumples the letter in one hand, rips it into four with the other, and tosses it into the fire with both._

_As it burns, he catches a glimpse of some of the letters that’d been scrawled inside. ‘Stay safe. I love y-.’_

..

Bucky shakes himself back into the present with a slight frown. He guides Steve out of the room, noticing how dazed the latter still is. They stroll towards the barracks, but pause a few strides away. Hidden in the shadows, they’re undetectable by anyone else. Steve needs the quiet for a moment- just a second. To collect his thoughts, of course. Bucky knows.

“I didn’t know about the cost of- my rescue,” Bucky starts, slow and cautious.

Steve makes a little noise of bewilderment, his wild eyes turning up to glare at Bucky. “Please, tell me off again. It won’t change anything. In the end, I’d do it all again. You’re my b-best friend.”

“’Best friend,’ only?” Bucky quips with the smallest of smiles.

“Don’t play with me,” Steve says, abruptly- it comes out as more of a beg, though. “Don’t you do that. I just yelled at the President for you.”

“I know. Look, I’ve gotta go get my blood drawn again. You need a nap. I’ll see you afterwards, okay?”

With that, Bucky turns on his heel and strides off, leaving Steve with an aching heart and bewildered mind in the shadows of the tent.

Steve wanders inside the barracks and sits down on his cot before dropping his head into his hands and biting back another goddamned sob. His hand and calf are burning- smoldering, actually- from where Bucky had finally fucking touched him.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Steve lays back on his cot.

..

 _The sun is long gone by the time Steve arrives at the playground. His mom- dear Sarah- had needed his help with somethin in the house, and he’d lost track of time. Once he’d noticed that it was almost past sundown, and he remembered that he had agreed to meet Bucky_ at _sundown, he had shoved his dirty shoes onto his feet and sprinted out the door with a hurried farewell to his mother._

_Bucky’s sitting on one of the swings, not moving, when Steve arrives. The latter jogs over to him, his little body heaving with the effort of having just run down an entire block._

_“Jesus, Stevie! What’d you do, run?” Bucky asks, standing abruptly and placing his hands on either side of Steve’s neck. “Was someone chasin’ ya?”_

_“No,” he gasps out, clutching at his own chest._

_“Fifteen damned years on this earth, all of them with asthma, and you’re still an idiot about it. Figures.”_

_“Don’t- don’t be cussin’ like that, Barnes,” Steve gasps out, pressing his fingers into his sternum. “Was gonna be late. Sorry.”_

_“You know it’s fine,” Bucky mutters, reaching around to pat Steve on the back. The latter grimaces, but lets out a few raspy coughs. “C’mon, let’s go up to the treehouse. It’s empty.”_

_Steve lets a grin spread over his thin face- despite his burning lungs, he excitedly follows Bucky up the rickety ladder into the treehouse. It overlooks the playground, about ten feet above the ground. The windows are foggy and scratched, and some floorboards are missing, but every single kid in Steve’s shoddy neighborhood loves the slightly-unsafe structure. Finding it empty is a miracle within itself._

_“I have a crush,” Bucky says suddenly, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting with his knees propped up in front of him. “You know me. I don’t skirt around issues, I don’t hint at things, I tell ‘em outright.”_

_“Mostly,” Steve amends, as he fights to keep the grin from falling from his face. His chest tight- from something other than the asthma- he asks, “Who is it, Bucky? Who’s the lucky dame?”_

_“Stevie, promise me, that no matter what I say, you’ll still be my friend.” Bucky’s voice has dropped an octave, serious and rich. “Promise me.”_

_“What, Buck, do you have a crush on my ma’ or something?” Silence meets Steve’s clever remark, and he relents, “Okay, okay. I promise.”_

_“It’s you, Stevie. I have a crush on you.”_

..

His legs swinging, Bucky stares down at the IV that’d just been stuck into his arm. The nurse is fiddling with the tape- as he watches, she smoothes a piece down over the needle to keep it in place.

“What’s this for, again?” Bucky asks distractedly, gesturing to the vial that the nurse is holding.

“It’s to counteract the drugs that they gave you,” she says, before depressing the plunger. Bucky’s eyes track the liquid as it shoots into his arm with a sting. “It’s almost all out of your system. This is just helping to stabilize you.”

“What drugs did they give me?” Bucky asks, for the fifth time since his return.

“We don’t know,” says the nurse, hollowly.

Bucky leaves the med tent a half-hour later with a strip of gauzed tied around his arm, and an ache in his fingers that he just can’t quite shake.

The barracks are almost empty when Bucky gets back- aside from the odd soldier taking a nap. The reprieve from action is welcomed, though with hesitance. Command has started to send some soldiers out on patrols- or so Bucky has gathered from talk in the med tent- but for the most part, the camp is at a stalemate with local combatants, and is waiting for orders from the higher ups back in the States. Everyone has time to burn, now.

Bucky doesn’t like that, not one bit.

He pads over to his and Steve’s shared bunk, catching sight of the other man splayed out on the bottom cot, his eyes shut and his mouth slightly agape.

Heart swelling, Bucky wonders how cruel it’d make him if he woke Steve up. He’s not stupid- he knows that Steve didn’t sleep much the night prior- every time the damn boy had turned over, Bucky had been awoken.

The latter sits down at the foot of the bed, busying himself with unwrapping the gauze around his arm. A few droplets of blood have soaked into it. He balls it up and tosses is under the bed.

“Buck?” a familiar voice slurs from beside him.

“Good mornin’, Stevie,” he teases, glancing over at the other man. His hair is tousled, and his eyes are narrowed against the light. “You up for some lunch?”

“What’s the time?” he asks, ignoring the other question.

“Sun’s almost in the middle o’ the sky, that answer your question?” Bucky jokes with a huff, reaching out to nudge Steve’s foot.

The latter groans before swinging himself upright. “Peggy said that she needs me back ‘round midday. You can come, if you want. It’ll probably be boring.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll find something to do. Don’t think Carter and her friends are very fond of me at the moment.”

“Don’t let them get to you,” Steve murmurs as he stands from his bed, stretching briefly. “They’re mad at me, not you.”

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” Bucky murmurs.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Bucky startles, jerking his head to look at Steve- as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. “What?”

“Your arm, it’s bleeding.”

Bucky grits his teeth, extending his arm for Steve to look at it.

“Didn’t they give you gauze for that?” Steve asks, peering down at the little needle prick and the droplet of blood welling up from it. “Could get infected.”

“Yeah, they did,” Bucky mutters, letting Steve brush his fingertip over the droplet, smearing it away. It stings, but Bucky hides his wince. “’s fine.”

Steve lets go of his arm and Bucky allows it to drop back down to his side, glancing up at him one more time just to make sure- make sure of what, he doesn’t know- but to make sure of something.

..

_“Stop,” Bucky slurs. He thrashes his head to one side, but the pain is inescapable. “It hurts! Stop!”_

_A bitter chuckle sounds from someplace behind him. Bucky wrenches against the restraints, struggling- he needs to turn around, needs to see who-._

_“Sergeant Barnes,” someone murmurs. A white coat comes into view in the corner of his vision- Bucky blinks to clear the blurriness from his eyes, to no avail. “Hold still, now. The injection is almost done.”_

_Bucky screams as another wave of searing, white-hot pain shoots through his body. His back aches off the table, pushing against the restraints._

_“That needs to be worked on,” the man in the coat says, cocking his head to peer down at Bucky from behind a pair of unflattering glasses. “Can’t be showing weakness like that, no, not at all.”_

_Bucky thumps back down onto the table as the pain recedes._

_“One more dose,” the man calls out, to someone who Bucky can’t see._

_Bucky barely has time to inhale before pain courses back through his body. He grits his teeth, holds in his wails of pain- when the fiery sensation subsides, he glances back over at the doctor to make sure of- to make sure that the doesn’t have to be punished, again._

_“Better,” the doctor says, smiling grimly and patting Bucky’s ankle._

..

Steve’s face is unsuspecting- calm, inquisitive- but not angry, or disappointed. Bucky relaxes.

“I’m gonna go for a run, or something, then,” Bucky says. “I feel weird from that stuff the nurse gave me. Have fun with Carter.”

Bucky’s gone again before Steve can even begin to process it. With a sigh, the latter sets off in the direction of Peggy’s office.

“Good, you’re here!” Peggy calls out as soon as Steve lets himself in. He wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and greets Peggy with a strained smile.

“Don’t look so sad. I have good news!” she exclaims, tugging on his elbow to guide him into an adjacent room. “Where’s your Barnes?”

“He said he was going to go for a run,” Steve stutters out, bewildered, before Peggy tugs him the rest of the way into the room.

The space is big- bigger than the conference room from this morning. There are shelves and racks off to the sides, and machinery litters the floorspace- but most prominently, a big table sits in the midst of the room, with a series of maps laying atop it.

“You told me that you remember the locations of the other Hydra bases that you saw on the map in Azanno,” Peggy says, her brown eyes shining with excitement. “Please mark them on these maps- as many, and as accurately, as you can.”

A technician standing nearby gives Steve a marker. He uncaps it, and gets to work.

One there, one closer to the shore there- another to the east, no, two more miles that way. One more, far south. Two more above that, lost somewhere in the middle of Europe. For once, he’s thankful for something the serum had given him- a photographic memory.

“Wonderful!” Peggy exclaims, rolling up the last map and passing it off to the technician. “Now, I can tell you the really good news.”

“What is it, Peg?”

“Roosevelt is no going to court-martial you!”

Steve sighs, deflating a bit as he rubs his temples with his fingertips. “Yeah, no- I figured as much.”

“He wants to set you up with your own tactical team, Steve.”

“He _what_?”

Peggy laughs, bright and beautiful, before leaning back against the table. “He’s going to capitalize on your heroic image, and get you to take out the rest of the Hydra bases. He’s assembling a team of soldiers for you.”

“No,” Steve laughs, bitterly. “Nope.”

“What? Steve, don’t be dense-.”

“Can I pick the soldiers? Scratch that- I am picking them, or I can’t do this.” Steve lets an inspired smile creep onto his lips. Straightening up, he says, “I’ll have him a list in a day. This is non-negotiable.”

“There are absolutely _no_ negotiations taking place, Captain!” Peggy exclaims. “I’ll tell him you’re going to give him a list of preferred men. It might not matter, at all. You owe him, not the other way around.”

“I don’t owe him- nor anyone else, for that matter- jack _shit_ ,” Steve hisses, his excited tone vanishing within the blink of an eye. “I’m done being the army’s pet project. If they want me to actually help, I’ll do it, but I’ll do it on my terms. I don’t take orders anymore.”

“Everyone in the army takes orders,” Peggy snaps, standing up straight. In two strides, she’s right up in Steve’s face. Though she’s shorter, her presence is much, much taller- and so intimidating that it’s scary. “Don’t get bold with me, Captain. I will still put you in your place, friends or not.”

Steve presses his lips into a fine line before stepping back, putting his hands up- as if surrendering. “Sorry, Peggy. You know I’m not mad at you.”

“Could’ve had me fooled,” she says, but the bite has left her tone. Her expression softens, and she asks, “How’s your Bucky doing?”

“He’s…” Steve has to stop and think about his answer. “He’s actually better today. More… normal.”

“He saw how much you sacrificed for him,” Peggy points out, tucking a curl behind her ear. “In the briefing. You stood up to the President for him.”

Steve chuckles, though he can’t stop himself from cringing a bit. “Don’t remind me.”

“Carter!” a technician calls from the other side of the room, a packet of papers clutched in his hand.

“Got to go,” Peggy says, back turning to Steve with an almost-apologetic smile. “Get me that list in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Rogers!”

A familiar looking man- slicked hair, shining nametag- calls. Steve whirls around, looking at him with confusion evident in his eyes.

“I’ve got the Head of National Security on the line. He wants a personal debriefing.”

The sigh that leaves Steve’s body is louder than a clap of thunder.

..

Steve doesn’t return to the barracks until long after the sun has disappeared from the sky. Stars twinkle high above- this night is clearer than water- and the moon lights the entire camp in her gorgeous silver glow.

Boots crunching the gravel underfoot- a disproportionately loud sound in the otherwise silent night-, Steve lifts the corner of the tent and is about to duck inside, when-.

“Buck! Dammit, scared the shit out of me,” Steve whispers, albeit loudly, as he stumbles backwards. “What’cha doin’, lurking there like that? Get inside, you moron.”

“Sorry, Stevie,” Bucky replies, his voice rumbling- heavy. He doesn’t move, though Steve doesn’t really want him to, either. “How was Carter?”

“Fine, she was fine. Has- well, I’ll tell you all about it in the morning,” Steve says, still hushed. He glances inside the tent hesitantly, confused. “How was your run?”

“Fine, it was fine.”

A silence falls between them, the only sound a distant group of crickets. Steve shifts his weight to the other side, cocking his hip expectantly.

“I want to show you something,” Bucky admits, quietly. “Promise you won’t be mad.”

Concern etches itself into Steve’s features before he replies, “Never, Buck. Never at you.”

Bucky shifts, and then reaches up to unbutton the collar of his uniform.

“What’re you-?”

“Shh.”

Bucky pulls it down further once a few buttons have been undone, revealing a mess of purple and red marring across his collarbones and the base of his neck. Scrapes, angry red and raised, decorate his fair skin.

“Bucky? What the fuck are these from?”

Bucky flinches back, as if having been burnt. He speaks, voice shaking, “You said- you said you wouldn’t b-be mad.”

“No, Buck- you got it all wrong. I’m not mad at you. Who the hell did this?” Steve’s ocean eyes are ablaze with an uncharacteristic anger for the second time that day. A glance at Bucky reveals that the latter’s eyes aren’t smoldering with anger- as Steve thought they’d be, because why the hell isn’t Bucky furious with whoever did this to him?- but rather, are shining with unshed tears. Softer, Steve continues, “Why haven’t these healed like the rest?”

“I don’t-,” Bucky mutters, his voice cracking. He swipes a tear off of his own cheek and repeats, “I dunno.”

Steve reaches up with tentative fingers to brush across one of the bruises. Bucky’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away this time. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Steve traces his fingers around the outlines of the bruises, and over the raised tracks of the scrapes.

“What’d they do to you, Buck?”

Bucky chuckles lowly, bitterness seeped into the very sound itself. He doesn’t answer any further- but, Steve belatedly realizes, the chuckle is answer enough.

He brings his other hand up to cup Bucky’s neck, thumb pressing against the bruise cautiously. It’s hard, swollen. Bucky’s collarbone is crisscrossed with scrapes and bruises- Steve gently traces along the edge of the bone with his index finger. The marks end at the point where Bucky’s collarbone reaches his right shoulder- Steve’s fingers fall off at that point, too.

“’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner, Buck,” Steve finally says, his own voice thicker than molasses. “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head with a surprising conviction- a tear flying off. In some sick beauty, it glows in the moonlight. “Don’t you start. Not your fault.”

“I was supposed to protect you,” Steve whispers, as if he hadn’t even heard what the other man had just said. He reaches up, swipes his thumb over another tear before it can make its way down Bucky’s jaw. “Like you’ve done for me.”

“I didn’t, Stevie,” Bucky says. “I joined the war. I left you.”

“That’s not how I see it,” Steve murmurs. He glances around, making sure that they’re still alone- before grasping Bucky’s bicep and leading him around the back of the tent, closer to the treeline. “You _know_ that’s not how it is.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“No, Bucky.” Steve’s voice leaves no room for argument. “God, Buck, I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses. “Don’t.”

“But-.”

The only thing to escape Steve’s lips after that is a gasp- as Bucky surges forward, grips Steve’s shoulders, and spins him around. The latter’s head thuds back against the trunk of a tree, and he’s about to say something similar to, ‘what the fuck?’ when a pair of warm lips on his shuts him the hell up.

“Mmph!” is the next sound coming from his throat, as Bucky cups the back of his head with deft fingers threaded into the hair. He tugs, ever-so-slightly.

Bucky’s lips, as warm and soft as Steve remembers them, kill the arguments resting on Steve’s tongue. Helpless, Steve hardly remembers to kiss back. By the time he does, Bucky’s pulling away.

“Buck, no,” Steve mumbles, reaching out to grab hold of the man’s uniform with one hand. “ _Please_. Please don’t go.”

Eyes glossy, cheeks shiny in the moonlight from tears- Bucky bites his own lip with a clenched jaw. He looks terrified, like a caged animal. He’s fighting himself; Steve can tell.

“Kiss me again,” Steve whispers, and that appears to be all that Bucky needs, because he shoves Steve back up against the tree and licks into his mouth.

Steve’s left breathless and panting the next time Bucky pulls away, but his entire body is on fire- in the best way possible. His fingers are still knotted into the fabric of Bucky’s uniform, and he tugs the latter forward again into another desperate kiss. Bucky’s stubble scrapes along Steve’s clean-shaven jaw, his free hand coming to fist into the fabric by Steve’s shoulder.

“When I left,” Bucky says, after pulling back and taking a gasp of air. His eyes are trained on Steve’s slick, kiss-swollen lips. “I thought- God.”

Bucky leans back in, needy- Steve can taste the salt from some of Bucky’s stray tears as he tips forward to meet him again.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Bucky admits, leaning back a bit farther. He releases Steve’s uniform to cup his jaw, one hand still anchored in his hair. Pressing a thumb to Steve’s reddened bottom lip, he mutters, “Fuck.”

Steve leans forward and captures Bucky’s lips in another kiss before the latter’s self-doubt can make an appearance. Their teeth click together and Steve huffs a laugh, before nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip in some sort of a wicked apology. His breath stutters as he pulls back once more, lip dragging between Steve’s teeth.

“I convinced myself that it’d be- that it’d be easier,” Bucky forces out through gritted teeth. Steve presses a gentle peck of a kiss to them- Bucky’s jaw going slack instantly. “Shit, look who’s got the stutter now.”

Steve lets out the smallest laugh before leaning back in for yet another kiss- this one Bucky gives up easily, tilting his head to better press into Steve’s mouth- gently, so gently. Steve tastes like home, like familiarity- late nights and pencil sketches and city lights- in whatever tactile form that they can come in. Steve’s that. Steve’s art.

Steve himself is art; Bucky knows this. How he ever thought he could forget something so magnificent, so special, so unique- he doesn’t know.

They pull apart slowly, Bucky’s lip still captured between Steve’s.

“I thought if we forgot what we had, then it’d hurt less when I died,” Bucky manages to force out, all in one breath, before diving back in for another kiss- as if to soothe the sound he has just created for himself. But, Steve leans out of the way.

“What?”

That’s when Bucky lets out the first true sob of the night, broken and rough and so, so raw. He turns away, biting the inside of his cheek as if to stifle his cries.

“Sorry, Buck, sorry,” Steve murmurs, reaching up to tilt Bucky’s head back towards him. He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose- tasting salty tears, again. “Not what I meant. C’mere.”

Bucky lets himself be kissed again- tender, and gentle and softer than kitten fluff- and the sobs die in his throat quicker than a flower in a snowstorm.

“’m sorry,” Bucky says, voice thick, still. “I hurt you. It was selfish, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, tilting Bucky’s chin up once more- this time so he can press the slowest of kisses to the biggest bruise on Bucky’s collarbone. The latter’s breath stutters again, his knees weakening as tingles erupt all over his entire chest. “We’re even now, yeah?”

Bucky laughs, too loud in the quiet of the night, but is promptly quieted when Steve comes back up to coax him into another kiss.

“I never actually forgot, you know,” Bucky whispers, after pulling back again. “I tried to convince myself that I did. But I could never _really_ forget you.”

“I know.”

..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time they kissed, huh? God, writing that scene was a relief- I was looking forward to it so much. I hope you guys liked it- I feel like it's one of the better kiss scenes I've written. Feel free to comment criticism, or other thoughts.
> 
> I'm currently traveling and am taking a break from this story to instead work on a little one inspired by the city I'm in, but I aim to have the concluding chapter of this up the following week! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are great encouragement! It lets me know that I'm doing a good job and that people want more of this fic. Don't be shy!


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